


Play the Part of Savior

by mneiai



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (that's literally canon I'm not even making that up), Blood Magic, Cannibalism, Cat/Human Hybrids, Church of Starry Wisdom, Dark, Dragons, F/M, Great Empire of the Dawn, Listen it's the Bloodstone Emperor that should be warning enough lbh, Lovecraftian Monster(s), M/M, Magic, Multi, Necromancy, The Long Night, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2020-07-25 00:56:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20023903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mneiai/pseuds/mneiai
Summary: Jon has one chance to stop the Long Night--to go back in time and stop the FIRST Long Night. But while trapped in the far past in a strange land, he finds that even he couldn't have predicted how complicated his quest would be.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I am not sure I'm going to actually be able to finish this fic, but I wanted to share it lol If anyone is interested in chatting about it, I'm on tumblr at [manyangledone](https://manyangledone.tumblr.com).
> 
> This is based partially on my drabble [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19904575/chapters/47310889) and also on reading too many WebToons late at night between working on my fics lol Namely, uh, Phantom Paradise, My Dear Cold-Blooded King, Shadow Slayer, and SubZero are inspiring me in various ways lol
> 
> I'll be bringing it up in the fic, but I subscribe to the theory that Valyrians or, more specifically, the dragonlords are descendants of the Great Empire of the Dawn. Said Empire was basically as if all of Asia was under one rule for (supposedly) tens of thousands of years. Yi Ti claims to be the remains of it.

Frost was crawling across the floor towards them, the fires flickering as the cold fought against them.

"We'll only have one chance!" Sarella stated, her eyes not leaving the pages of the ancient tomb in front of her. "Are you ready?"

"Do I have a choice?" Jon countered, taking one last look at the people around him.

If this was successful, none of them would really die. If this was successful, they'd never know this threat was more than an old tale.

"Just get on with it!" Arya shouted back at them, her stance shifting as she prepared for the doors to fall under the mass of wights pounding against it.

Jon approached the fire in the center, already burning more purple than natural from the materials Sam had been throwing into it. He checked himself once more--sword, knives, gold and gems sewn into the hems of his clothing that would hopefully have some worth.

Sarella only needed one nod from him before she started chanting, screaming the words against the furious wind. The flames flared higher, no longer guttering under the power of the Others, and then something seemed to give inside of them. They weren't flames, weren't just flames, anymore.

"Go!"

And Jon was moving, running into the gateway as he heard the wood of the doors shatter, as he heard his friends and family yell and cry.

This had to work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Me:** I'm not going to post this until I'm finished
> 
> **Also Me:** Eh, I've got 5 chapters done and am no where near finished, I think I'm just going to post it.
> 
> This will include the creepy stone that fell from the sky, the Bloodstone Emperor, the Bloodstone Emperor's cat-human wife, and basically every other teeny tiny bit of canon we get in the like two pages of canon on the Great Empire. It will work in a bunch of fan theories, including shit I just personally make up because why not.
> 
> There will be a somewhat slow start for the main plot, since there will be a LOT of adjusting going on lol I will most likely do a major rewrite of this at some point, maybe even rewrite some of the older chapters as I get much deeper into it, but will always give warnings and stuff.

Jon fell through the world, seeing flashes, images, trying to hang onto them. Figures he knew, figures he didn’t, people with familiar features in unfamiliar garb, strange lands, going faster and faster as he fell.

The purpose had been the Long Night, the anchor had been his own blood--Sarella convinced his ancestry would be enough. And why only he could make the jump.

At some point, he closed his eyes, unable to keep up with the passing visions. Then, abruptly, the feeling of movement, of falling, stopped.

He felt a cool floor underneath him, solid and steady. He could feel that, he could even smell odd, foreign scents. But he couldn’t hear anything, his ears still ringing from the fall. Cautiously, he opened his eyes--he saw his hand in front of him, smoking like a dying fire, there were even burns on the arm of his tunic. Blinking, he sat up and looked further around.

“Oh.”

He was far from alone, wherever he was. Men and women in ornate, flowing robes surrounded him, shocked and awed at his appearance. He could see others pushing their way through the groups--men in less ornate clothing, holding some sort of spear. Guards, or something like it.

Jon stood, or tried to, pushing himself to his feet and immediately regretting it. He would have fallen back down, except sturdy arms caught him, holding him in place.

Shock went through the crowd and he could see their mouths moving as they clearly exclaimed over what had just happened. He twisted to see who had taken ahold of him and froze, staring into dark red eyes. 

The man was taller than him, not as muscular, but in Jon’s state he didn’t think he could fight him off. His lips moved, clearly saying something, but Jon couldn’t recognize any of the movements of his lips and he was left shaking his head in a daze, gesturing to his ears.

For a moment, the man just gazed at him, eyes roving over Jon’s face as if looking for, and finding, something Jon couldn’t begin to guess at. Then he raised his head, looking behind Jon, and said something. It seemed loud, powerful, because Jon could feel it where he was pressed against the man’s chest.

Again, the man looked at him, giving what might have been a reassuring smile, and then slowly handed Jon off to another person. He stiffened when he saw it was a guard, but they were gentle with him, supporting him and leading him away from the crowd.

This was where he had to be? It looked like some sort of party, not at all what he was expecting.

***

The guard brought Jon to a room that at first he thought was a cell, damp and dimly lit, but the farther inside he got the more he realized it was some sort of bathing area, with a large pool in the center. People he guessed were servants appeared and he reluctantly allowed them to undress him, making motions to try to say he wanted his clothing back. Then they washed him and he had to allow it, keeping from flinching as these strangers touched him, knowing that he would need to seem pliant for now.

Few of the smells were familiar and even the cloths they wiped him with didn’t feel like any fabric he recognized. Not, he admitted to himself, that he had much worldly experience. He may have grown up in Winterfell as the lord’s bastard, but he’d hardly been clothed in expensive fabrics or taken on exotic trips. The Long Night had made that even less likely.

After, the servants clothed him in soft smallclothes and attire he could only describe as robes, and put slippers on his feet. They bowed deeply, as one might to a superior he assumed, and gesturing for him to return to the guard. 

The guard led him down twisting corridors that Jon couldn’t keep track of no matter how hard he tried. The next door he went through didn’t look like bars and the room beyond seemed a bedchamber, far too fancy to be mistaken for a cell.

Motioning him towards the bed, the guard gave a bow and left, closing the door behind him. 

Jon explored the room, feeling along the lacquered walls for any signs of secret passages or spy-holes. He picked up decorations, studying them, trying to place them. Some had writing, characters wholly unfamiliar to him.

He wished Sarella could have come with him, she would have already had this whole place figured out.

Finally giving up on finding any useful information, and exhausted, he climbed onto the bed. And groaned at how soft it was underneath him. He’d been sleeping on frozen ground or solid stone for so long he’d forgotten what a bed was like. Sleep came easily after that.

***

_He found himself in the crypts of Winterfell, ash covering the ground, wafting through the air. The smell, though, that was neither like fire nor the actual crypts--it was crisp and clear like he was beyond the Wall again._

_All around him were the statues tombs of his ancestors--but there was something off about them. After studying one, he realized that its sword was missing. All of the swords were missing._

_Did someone take them? He knew that Osha had, at one point. If they meant to defend themselves, defend Starks or Winterfell, he didn’t think his ancestors would mind._

_He kept walking, deeper and deeper into the crypts. Every statue in the same state. Until finally he entered a large, circular room that he had never seen before. Windows that couldn’t exist were letting in red-tinged light._

_And in the very center there was a throne. A throne of swords._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having spent an...overly large amount of time researching medieval fashion terminology for Potentiality has made me realize that GRRM doesn't really use much of it, anyway lol So while maybe someday I'll update all of this with the correct, no longer used terms that Jon would probably think in, for now I'm just going with this lol
> 
> I said before I have 5 chapters done, but in truth this is the last chapter I have done before I want to go through and add a bunch of stuff. So the other chapters might be a bit more delayed before posting.

Jon awoke with a start, skin crawling.

He was in the same room from before he fell asleep, wearing the same clothing, lying on the same bed. Looking further out as he sat up, he realized what it was that unsettled him.

The man from before, the one who had kept him from falling, was standing only a few feet from the bed, watching him with those disturbing red eyes. They weren’t at all like Ghost’s, they were darker, deeper.

“You slept for quite some time.” His voice was cultured, careful, with an amused edge to it.

And Jon understood exactly what he was saying, even though he felt like he really shouldn’t, even though he didn’t recognize many of the movements of the man’s mouth. Rubbing his ears, he wondered if this was one of the ‘accommodations’ the book had mentioned the spell would give the traveller. 

“...I apologize. I was very tired.”

The man smiled and for the first time Jon noticed just how attractive he was. And...familiar looking, somehow. Like Jon had seen at least some of those features before. He stepped closer, moving with a practiced grace, the ornate robes he was wearing flaring around him in such a purposeful way Jon imagined they must have been styled specifically for it.

“How did you come to appear at my banquet? One moment, all was as it always is, the next, you were floating from the sky and to land upon my floor. I had thought the wards of the palace, created by my esteemed ancestor, the Pearl Emperor, more than enough to keep other magic out.”

The Pearl Emperor...Jon remembered hearing about him. Sarella was _right_ , he realized, and this must be the Great Empire of the Dawn. And that made the man across from him, in his bedchamber, watching him with _dark red eyes_...the Bloodstone Emperor.

This wasn’t how Jon imagined meeting his enemy.

“I wasn’t expecting it. We were being attacked during the casting and...it is possible something was off when I went through.” Not a complete lie, he wouldn’t risk that without knowing what sort of magic the Emperor had.

“We? Should I expect others to appear?”

“No, I...doubt that.”

The Emperor took another step, now he was beside the bed, staring down at Jon. His hair was pulled up somehow, but from so close Jon could see that it was silver, not just grey. His eyes had a tilt to them that reminded Jon of his own, and his nose looked similar, as well.

There had been an old portrait of Aegon I in Dragonstone he’d seen once, and everyone else had used it to joke about the family resemblance with Jon. At least half of that, he’d always thought, was the nose he shared with the Conqueror, and countless other Targaryens. And this god-emperor from at least ten thousand years ago.

Now Jon was searching for other similarities, anything else that could confirm it for him if he needed the excuse. The Emperor had Targaryen hair, but Jon didn’t, so that wasn’t useful. Were their cheekbones similar? The shape of their shoulders?

“What are you looking for, fallen one?” the Emperor’s voice was soft, dark, a caress of shadow.

Jon’s lips parted, but he didn’t know what to say yet. “I realize...I don’t know your name.”

The Emperor chuckled, but the tilt of his head and the glint in his eyes made Jon aware he knew that he was changing the subject. “My name does not grace the lips of others, not since I ascended to my rightful place as Emperor. But my subjects refer to me by my imperial title, Bloodstone Emperor, or, if they should feel so moved, His Serene Majesty.” He leaned in closer. “And yourself, fallen one? What are you called?”

Names had power, Old Nan used to say. It was supposedly why so many of the old heroes only had one name or a title. And so Jon grabbed the first name he could think of, one that he’d have reason enough to use but wasn’t really _his_.

“I have a few names of my own, your majesty, though you may call me Aemon.” 

Again, the Emperor’s look made it clear he knew that wasn’t the whole of the truth. “And where do you hail from, Aemon?” 

He reached out, his fingers slender and topped in long, vicious looking nails painted the color of fresh blood. They brushed along one of Jon’s ears and he felt...something. Something more than just his physical touch.

_Sorcerer_ , he reminded himself. _Necromancer, monster._ This man had magic that Jon had to be wary of.

“Is there a map I could use? I must admit, I’m not sure exactly where I am right now.” He would try to get more information before giving up his own.

The Emperor pulled away, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “Of course.”

Jon didn’t see him make any movement, or hear any other noise, but as if on cue servants came in through a side door. Once more they brought clothing for him, elaborate pieces that he honestly did need their help to get into.

There was a dressing screen, at least, so that he could avoid showing his naked body to the Emperor. His scars might bring up too many questions he didn’t want to answer.

Once dressed, Jon followed the Emperor out the main door and down the twisted hallways. He tried to emulate the way he, and the others they passed, walked, but at times it was all he could do not to trip over the long, flowing bottom of the robes he wore. He’d have a hard time running in them, let alone fighting in them, and would have thought it was some plot by the Emperor except nearly every other person they passed was dressed similarly--at least, the highborn were. The servants and guards wore trousers and tunics and Jon enviously wondered where he might get a set or two.

Again, he lost track of where they were going, and he wasn’t entirely sure it was from the architecture alone. The whole palace was sweltering with magic, plucking at his skin whenever he opened his other senses up a bit more. It would take weeks to get used to it enough to try to warg something.

The room they entered was large, the walls covered in detailed hangings in a style Jon had never seen before and every inch not covered seemed carved in intricate shapes. He even thought he saw dragons among them, though he knew how Sarella and the others fought over how old those beasts were.

A map took up the entire back wall, showing a shape that was very similar to the modern maps of Essos, though with very different landmarks emphasized. Jon studied it for a moment, eyes roving over what would one day be Valyria and then further West, studying the vague outline of the eastern edge of Westeros, the most notable part the intact Arm of Dorne.

“We are in the capital of my empire, the Great Empire of the Dawn,” the Emperor stated, clearly relishing being able to say such. 

Jon licked his lips, looking over the map to try to find a marking that would indicate a capital. “...And where is that, your majesty?”

The Emperor watched him for a moment before he finally pointed. Jon felt like his heart must have stopped for a moment as he realized where it was. 

“This city, too, has many names, but it is most often called Stygai.” 

He’d heard of such a place from Melisandre, a city that in his time even the Asshai’i avoid. A twisted world of darkness, demons, and...dragons. None of them had actually believed that the Great Empire would be based there. Jon had assumed YiTi, if only because they seemed to be the only ones claiming it.

On the map, there was no indication of the Shadow. Had the Long Night created that? Other disasters hadn’t been recorded, yet, the creation of the Stepstones would surely be such an event that it would have been heard about even on this side of the Bone Mountains.

“You seem...unsettled, fallen one.”

“I had not thought I’d travel so far, your majesty. My home is...it is not here.”

The Emperor glanced over the map, then back at Jon. “You do not seem so foreign, although your style of dress when you arrived was. Dressed as a civilized person, you are not so out of place here.”

_The better to move around without notice,_ Jon surmised, though as long as he had the Emperor’s attention he’d probably be followed.

“I thank you for your hospitality, your majesty, but must say I am surprised by it, as well.” Jon turned his attention from the map to the Emperor. “Do you give all strangers such a personalized welcome?”

“Only those who make...such an entrance, fallen one.”

There was that nickname again, even though the Emperor now had a name to call him by. He’d seen Jon come down from the sky, he was said to worship a stone that fell from the sky...did he think Jon was connected to that?

He looked at the map again. What appeared to be all of Essos and Sothoryos were there. At this time, only the Children were supposed to be in Westeros. If Jon said his home wasn’t on the map, and the Emperor felt the truth in his words, where else was he supposed to come from but...not this world at all?

“You meant to go somewhere, but not necessarily here. The spell that brought you here must have been powerful, indeed, to work with so little information.”

Jon glanced back at him. “...We knew what we were seeking, just not where it was.”

His look intensified as he invaded Jon’s space once more. “That which you seek...did it come here the same way as you?”

“Not exactly the same, I wouldn’t think.”

“No...not _exactly_...but similar….”

Widening his eyes at the Emperor, he tried to appear like he didn’t _know_ he had the stone. “Do you know where such a thing is, your majesty?”

“I might. Though you must understand that I cannot simply allow anyone near it.” His red eyes pierced into Jon’s, the weight of his words seeming to wrap around him. “Such rare treasures must be guarded closely.”


	4. Chapter 4

_  
Sarella’s hands ran reverently over the book before her, but when Jon attempted to get a glimpse, all he saw were words that looked like gibberish. It was one of the ones brought to them by those fleeing Old Town, he remembered, something they’d thought was worth saving out of so many._

_“There are theories about what started the first Long Night in almost every culture,” she began, in that lecturing voice she gained, sometimes. “But I favor one in particular. There’s some myths in the far east that speak of a man called the Bloodstone Emperor. Whether he actually existed, or he’s some amalgamation of others, we can’t know. But what we do know is that one of the earliest accounts of an event like the Long Night relates to him.”_

_Jon nodded, doing his best to remember everything she said. She would have made a great maester, he always thought. As Alleras, maybe she would have stayed hidden, rising up in the ranks, if the world hadn’t thrown them all into this great disaster._

_“He was the last Emperor of the Great Empire of the Dawn, which spanned most of Essos east of the Bones. The first of the Emperors was supposedly born from two deities, the Lion of the Night and the Maiden-Made-of-Light. Bloodstone was descended from him._

_“He murdered his older sister, the Amethyst Empress, to get the throne. Then he started doing all sorts of...odd activities. Supposedly he founded what we know as the Cult of Starry Wisdom and practiced necromancy.”_

_“Necromancy? Raising the dead?”_

_She nodded. “Exactly. Now, there’s two things people claim could have set off the Long Night: His kinslaying, which made his ancestress the Maiden leave the mortal realm and gave too much power to the Lion, or...a black stone that had fallen from the sky, which he worshipped.”_

_He sucked in a breath. “An _oily_ black stone?” He thought of all the odd references she’d brought up of that unknown substance and wondered if that could be connected._

_“We don’t know. We don’t know what it is, where it came from, why he worshipped it...but the maesters have endless speculations.” She turned a page, hands skimming over the surface. “What we do know is, according to the earliest accounts, he’s a very bad person. And where everything started going to the hells.”_

_Grimacing, Jon wondered how accurate some old books from some confused maesters could be. They’d failed them before, after all, and Marwyn had been convinced there was a good deal of censorship happening, even in what was available in the Citadel._

_“But what does_ he _have to do with_ me _?”_

_Sarella glanced up at him and the expression on her face might have seemed stoic, but he recognized it well--a helpless look. Whatever she was about to say, he wouldn’t like it.  
_

**

Jon had spent the first week playing the quiet, curious mystery and trying to warg into something whenever he was alone. His head had a permanent-seeming ache by the time he finally reached a small bird hopping on the ledge of his balcony. 

Each day he could hold it for a little longer and he started seeing how much of the palace he could explore. Like any other large structure, no one was surprised to find a bird “trapped” inside.

Yet with that and his own searches (walks to familiarize himself with the palace, he claimed, guards and servants always following a few steps behind him, attentive to his every need and spying for the Emperor, but it was the most he could yet manage) had turned up nothing. Wherever the stone had been hidden, it was either not in the palace or so protected that Jon might need to be in the same room to feel it.

Which meant he was still reliant on the Emperor’s good graces. Eventually, if he was lucky, the Emperor would allow him near the stone. 

The Emperor’s good graces for Jon were not hard to obtain, after all. His large rooms seemed to have dedicated servants, who always brought with them brand new clothing and accessories. His own clothing had been cleaned and returned to him (the jewels in the hem seemingly intact), but he simply tucked them away in a corner of the room. He had to fit in, after all.

His food, while foreign, remained exquisite, as well. And it was during a meal he was taking alone on his balcony one day that he finally found a servant willing to chat.

“Please, sit down, you look tired,” Jon entreated, when he noticed the bags under the servant’s eyes.

The servant looked shocked. “It would not be appropriate, my lord.”

Jon glanced around them. “Are we not alone? Is someone watching to ever know?”

They hesitated a moment longer, then slowly sat in the offered chair. Once they had seemed to realize they would not be struck down for such an act, Jon pushed a cup of tea towards them, offering them a drink.

“If it makes you feel better, you can take this as part of your duties. Where I’m from, we rarely eat alone like this.” True enough, at least for him. “So I feel more comfortable with you seated with me.” That did seem to relax the servant, at least somewhat.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then the servant began, hesitantly, “If you desire companionship, my lord, the Emperor would arrange something. His concubines are the most talented there are.”

Jon almost choked on his own tea. He’d heard, here and there, about a harem, but he hadn’t put too much thought into it. Though...they’d be more likely to know something about the Emperor than anyone, surely. 

“Thank you for the suggestion.” 

He slid one of the tiny plates of delicacies over to the servant, knowing that food could often help people bond. He’d need all the allies here he could get.

***

The only outward reaction from the Emperor was a slow, even blink of his eyes, his thick eyelashes making the movement more obvious.

“Do you have needs that have not been fulfilled?”

Jon almost, _almost_ blushed at that. “Ah, not...in such a way, your majesty. But I am often lonely and would like others to speak to.”

The Emperor cocked his head to the side, red eyes studying him. As he waited for a response, the headache that Jon had yet to get rid of seemed to worsen and it was all he could do to stand steady, to keep his face blank, even as he gritted his teeth against the pain.

“I see.”

He turned away, walking deeper into the gardens, and as Jon allowed himself to relax, the pounding in his head slowly disappeared, until just the slightest of aches remained.

Taking a deep breath, he followed, watching the way the shadows shifted around them. The sun was low in the sky, but there were no clouds, and Jon had yet to figure out why it seemed as though the rules for light were different in this palace.

Without warning, the Emperor stopped, Jon almost walking into him. He turned, robes swirling around him, inched from Jon. 

“You still have much to learn of our culture. I will send one of my senior concubines to instruct you in such matters.” 

He paused and Jon knew it was for effect more than hesitation. Jon stood still as the Emperor stroked the back of his hand down his cheek, the skin almost too-smooth feeling, the nails icy cold. 

“But I will not have them touching you, fallen one. They have their uses, but I would not have them sully you.” 

Sometimes Jon wondered just what the Emperor thought he was. But he didn’t voice that question, because he still hadn’t worked himself up to accepting whatever answer he could get.

“...My thanks, your majesty.”


	5. Chapter 5

The servant that Jon had spoken to never reappeared. He hoped they had just been reassigned, that the Emperor would not see what happened as a reason to hurt someone. But there was no good way to know.

Instead he had a few more days on his own, the Emperor making one appearance each day to take a meal with him, music playing through thin walls to relax them. With just the two of them, and whatever servants and guards were always there and were exceptional at fading into the background, Jon could take as much time as he wanted to simply observe the Emperor.

So much about him felt a little odd, a little off. Jon wondered if that was the nature of his family--they were supposed to be some sort of magical blood--or from the dark magic the Emperor practiced.

The Emperor had no issue with Jon looking at him, Jon could almost say that he preened under the attention. He even seemed to pose at some points and the last few meals seemed to wear clothing with a deeper neckline that had Jon trying _not_ to look at him. He definitely was moving closer, Jon had made a note of the tiles between them and each night there were less.

Jon had been quiet before, but when he realized that he became even more so, paying less attention to the Emperor.

On the sixth day, instead of the Emperor it was a woman he did not recognize that awaited him in his rooms after he bathed. She was tall and willowy, with hair darker than Jon’s own and small, brown eyes. Pretty, he thought, and when she was younger she may have even been beautiful.

“My lord,” she bowed, and he returned the gesture, her way of dress saying she had some status. “I am Mishal, an honored concubine of His Serene Majesty.”

His eyes widened as he realized that the Emperor had truly sent a concubine to him. “My lady, I thank you for meeting with me.”

Her lips quirked and he thought she was thinking of how little choice she was most likely given. “It is my honor, my lord, for never has there been a guest held in such high regard by the Emperor.”

Jon glanced away, shifting on his feet at that thought. “That is...good to hear. Though, please, we are to be friends, there is no need to be so formal.”

This time, she let out a soft laugh, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I can see why he thought some lessons might be in order. You are charming as an outsider, but the longer you are here, the less so that will be.”

He didn’t know how he felt about taking lessons from a concubine--not because he had any issues with such work, but because of the implications. What did the Bloodstone Emperor want from him? What did he think Jon would be, if he stayed here?

But with Mishal around the days started passing faster. Sometimes he found himself so mentally exhausted at the end of them he even forgot to try to warg. It was a good tired, still, one of accomplishment, of getting closer to his goal of fitting in to eventually blend in. 

***

Mishal decided to start with what he supposed were civilized seeming activities. Along with him learning the more proper way to eat and speak to people of various castes (and learning about such things in general, as he’d studied very little about societies outside of Westeros), she also had him learning to play an instrument.

“You may be called upon to entertain the Emperor,” she’d said, her eyes darkening. “We concubines are often in attendance at his meals and rest times, but recently he has chosen you.”

He couldn’t help but ask for greater details. “Are concubines...are you not sexually involved with the Emperor?”

For a moment, he thought he’d gone too far with his questions, but Mishal had been pleasantly blunt with him during these sessions. “The Emperor partakes in such pleasures as he sees fit and to ensure his line sustained.”

Jon licked his lips, staring down at the strings his fingers were plucking. He’d never tried to play such an instrument before, in retrospect he wouldn’t be surprised if his father had kept anything like a harp from him for fear of someone associating him with his sire. But now he found his fingers surprisingly adept as they moved over the strings. He had little else to do but practice and try to warg, so he thought he was doing very well.

“...Is that what you believe he wishes from me? To...partake in such pleasures?”

She was quiet for long enough that he finally looked up again, but she was looking away as if caught up in her own thoughts. “There are many activities that the Emperor finds pleasurable. Which he desires you for...I could not say.”

Something about her words rang ominous. _Necromancer,_ he reminded himself. _Sorcerer, cannibal, monster._ He could not trust the Emperor.

***

_“Mm, you look so silly with a beard.”_

_Sarella sprawled over him, both of them nude in the relative warmth of the room they’d commandeered. She nuzzled under his chin, squirming against him to get into whatever she thought was the most comfortable position, uncaring of his own comfort. He let her, because he didn’t really care about his own comfort, either._

_“It keeps my face warmer, outside.”_

_“Lucky, I can’t grow a small animal on my face for warmth.”_

_“Hey! This is a respectable beard, I’ll have you know!” He tried to sound outraged, but he was laughing along with her._

_He wrapped his arms tight around her, thinking of the weeks they’d been apart, as she’d traveled back to Old Town in a desperate bid for something to help and he’d stayed behind to help the neverending efforts to retreat South._

_Sooner than he’d like, they’d be in Dorne._

_“You’re thinking too hard, it’s bringing the mood down,” she muttered, nipping his cheek._

_“Ouch, you vicious little viper. You’re not actually supposed to bite people!”_

_“Oh? That’s not what you were saying last night.” To demonstrate, she roved her tongue over one of the marks she’d left on his throat, drawing a gasp from him._

_“I’ve missed you, Alleras,” he muttered, before twisting their bodies so she was on her back on the bed, him looming over her. “Even if you are the second most annoying person here.”_

_“Only second? I’ll have to try harder.”_

_He shut her up with a kiss, which she enthusiastically returned. They had a whole night at the keep they were in before they had to set out again and they were going to take full advantage of the bed and private room._


	6. Chapter 6

Jon awoke with a soft groan, shifting under the silk sheets. The dream had been a good one, for once, but it had left his body too interested. 

He reached for himself under the sheet, mind already replaying images of Sarella. Then he heard the faint sound of the door sliding open and sat up hurriedly, pooling the sheets in his lap to hide the remnants of his dream.

It was the Emperor, of course it was, watching him with knowing eyes. 

“Aemon, I thought you might enjoy an introduction to court today.”

Eyes widening, he wondered what kind of test this was, now. “Your majesty, I’m not sure I’m fit for such an activity.”

“Nonsense, Lady Mishal has said you have made many improvements over the course of your lessons.” 

Servants flowed into the room with new clothing for him and he reluctantly slid off the bed and stepped behind the screen to dress, after just a few days already used to the routine. Layer upon layer was placed on him, his hair styled as others fastened the newest robe. When one brought a brush towards his eyes he jerked back, but held still eventually as he remembered the paint that even the Emperor wore.

Court here, like back home, was most likely an extravagant affair. Today the Emperor was even draped in veils with only his eyes showing through. Jon thought whoever had decided an Emperor wouldn’t show his face in the court had a very good idea, he would barely have to try to hide his expressions. 

Not that this Emperor had any issues with that even without the veils.

He walked beside the Emperor most of the way, as he wanted, but did not have to be told to fall back a few steps once they reached their destination. The Emperor entered first, gracefully climbing the dias to his throne, and Jon entered after with his flock of servants. Mishal had gone over this in the last lesson and now Jon assumed it had all been planned.

In fact, he could see her, on the side with other ladies he assumed might also be concubines. They were all dressed in finery, with face paints emphasizing their loveliness, but they watched the court with cold, dead eyes.

This was the first time Jon had gotten a chance to truly study the highborn of the Great Empire, except for the Emperor himself, and he noticed that very few had the silver hair associated with Valyrians in his day. Most had dark hair, much like his own, and darker skin not too far off in shade, and darker eyes, certainly not the disturbing shade of the Emperor’s or the purple of the dragonlords.

If they didn’t know who he was or where he came from, he could definitely hide among them. It made him all the more frustrated over his ostentatious introduction to them.

Just as Jon was growing bored of the minutiae of the Emperor’s ruling, starting to retreat to daydreams of his past, a commotion near the main entrance caught his attention. 

“Her highness, wife of His Serene Majesty, the Bloodstone Emperor, Lady Hekatys.”

No one bowed to her as they did the Emperor, at best they gave the polite bows that Jon himself received in greeting. Then again, she apparently wasn’t even a Queen or Princess, let alone an Empress, and courts were obsessed with structure. 

She was dressed in a gown of light, flowing cloth and moved even more smoothly than the Emperor did, looking sensual even from afar. 

When she reached the front, Jon almost gasped outloud. He’d known, from the stories, that the Emperor had supposedly wed a person described as part-cat, but he hadn’t realized how obvious that would be. Her eyes, her ears, her teeth when she greeted the Emperor, all of it was catlike. Her hands were oddly shaped and had wicked claws at the ends. And he thought he saw a tail swishing under the layers of her gown.

He vaguely remembered Mishal speaking of castes, and that people with such animalistic features had in the past been considered the lowest of castes. The Emperor’s reforms were all that let his own wife within the palace.

Her eyes flicked towards him and for a moment their gazes locked, hers feeling almost like a challenge. He bowed, breaking eye contact, and she moved on to stand beside the Emperor’s throne, head held high.

Afterwards, Jon was invited to dine with the Emperor, his wife, and a few of their favored courtiers. He couldn’t exactly refuse.

In Westeros, his seat would be a place of honor, but he did not know what it meant here. Surely most of the court seemed to prefer being further away from his physical presence when they could be. He could ask Mishal, but he was unsure how honest she would be.

“I am told your name is Aemon.” For all the sharp teeth, Hekatys’ voice was surprisingly smooth, and far deeper than Jon had expected of it.

“It is, your highness.”

She picked at the food on her plate, which only contained meats, as she studied him. “You have traveled quite far to grace us with your presence.”

Jon’s eyes flicked over to the Emperor as he wondered just how much the two of them shared. Perhaps he should be working on her, not him, in order to more quickly find the stone.

“I have, though I must admit it was not entirely my purpose.” He’d hoped they’d been wrong, that the Long Night he’d heard of as a boy would be the first of them and he’d be in the North, in the almost-familiar land of the North, with his Stark ancestors.

Hekatys smirked. “No, I doubt anyone _plans_ to come to such a place without business here.” The knowing look she was giving him was unnerving, making him wonder how obvious his searches might have been.

“How did you come to be here, my lady?”

Amusement danced over her face. "I came to learn and the Emperor was far too intriguing to deny." 

She and the Emperor exchanged a look, one Jon couldn't help but think held nothing loving in it. They appeared like two predators sizing each other up, trying to decide if they could have an easy feast.


	7. Chapter 7

The creature he rode must have eventually become the zorse, Jon thought, though he could hardly ask the party around him. It didn't have the distinctive stripes, but it did have some patterning, and its size matched. At least, that's what he'd decided, as he attempted to keep himself entertained.

Two hours out from the capital, in the wilds of what would someday be the Shadow, and no one had said anything to him. Perhaps they blamed Jon for the trip--he’d been the one to express an interest in seeing more of the Emperor’s kingdom than the inside of the palace, after all.

Ahead, the Emperor traveled by litter with his wife. He had wished for Jon to join them, but he had declined, with the excuse of wanting to experience the land as the others were. If the Emperor was surprised at how well his heavenly pet rode, he had yet to comment.

Finally, they stopped, on top of a high hill overlooking the lands around them. Servants, who mostly had been forced to travel by foot, quickly set up blankets and pillows and a temporary cover to shade them from the afternoon sun. The Emperor took what was obviously the seat of honor, his wife beside him, and Jon could not deny joining them now.

As with meals before, Jon tried to focus on the food, and not the Emperor’s ever watchful eyes or the smalltalk the highborn nearby tried to make. He'd perfected the use of their utensils in his lessons and didn't fear embarrassing himself, but he still knew little about the topics they discussed.

And the last time he'd shown too much interest in a courtier...the Emperor's disapproval had been an almost tangible thing.

Hekatys made light conversation with him, instead, speaking of the lands around them. She traveled more often, sometimes hunting with those of her people she'd brought with her, and knew much of the wildlife.

The Emperor interjected at points, but was mostly content to watch Jon. At one point he reached out, adjusting a bangle on Jon's arm, and it seemed as though the whole tent froze. But as soon as the Emperor looked up, normal activity resumed, no one wanting to be caught staring in shock.

Jon's skin tingled where the Emperor touched, almost crawling from the cold sensation. Out of everything he'd grown used to, he knew that would never be one.

After feasting, Jon and the Emperor took a walk, observing the lands around them. The other guests played games, or stayed in small groups talking, or, much like what might have happened in Westeros, went off for a hunt. 

It was perhaps an hour of being the Emperor's sole focus as Jon studied the plants and animals he could, that a noise burst through the air, startling the entire party. The Emperor tensed, staring into the distance, and Jon squinted to try to make out whatever it was.

The noise grew louder as the hunters returned, a great rumbling almost like thunder. They weren't triumphantly riding back with a kill, they were _fleeing_ some huge beast.

It was a dragon, he realized, flying low to the ground and like none he'd seen before, but a dragon. Four legs, long and slender, perhaps closer to wyrms in its ancestry than the Valyrian dragons. Beautiful still, though, and filling Jon with a longing for home he hadn't expected.

Even the warriors were running from the creature, Jon was the only one running towards it. And he didn't even realize he had until he was within feet of it. He yelled at it, Valyrian slipping from his mouth from long practice with Daenerys’ dragons, though he didn’t know what good it would do for something born so long before the Freehold. 

But, thankfully, the dragon seemed to calm, letting out a few last roars before settling closer to the ground. It snorted, smoke puffing from its nostrils, but did not protest when Jon gently stroked its muzzle.

“Aemon!” he heard, finally, realizing that the Emperor had been calling him the entire time.

When he turned, the Emperor stood partway back, a hand reached out towards him. The air rippled, as it might from intense heat, and Jon thought that if the dragon had attacked him, the Emperor must have surely been ready to fight it. 

“Gīda,” he murmured to the dragon, “kessa sagon sȳz.”

It tensed, suddenly, just as it seemed to be relaxing, and then reared back. It did not strike, but instead stretched its wings out before pulling them in closer, half-shielding Jon. 

“Gīda! Sagon gīda!”

The Emperor had approached, his hand back at his side but the air still shifting unnaturally around him. For a moment, Jon thought he saw something else where the Emperor stood, as a cloud passed over the sun.

“Aemon, what are you doing?”

Jon thought, almost spoke, “Dracarys.” Almost saw if the Emperor could withstand dragonfire. 

But that would be a useless endeavor. It might kill him, but Jon still did not know how to get to the stone. He was sure that must be what started everything and _that_ was what he had to destroy.

“Sōvegon!” he called, instead, and repeated it when the dragon hesitated.

He watched it rise higher in the air, circle thrice, and then head back towards the mountain range in the distance. 

The Emperor reached him soon after, pulling him tightly against him, his hands roaming over Jon’s body as if checking for wounds. “You foolish creature,” he muttered, “if you were anything else, it would have surely burnt you to a crisp.” 

Jon sucked in a breath, not sure how to explain it. “...I suppose you could say I have an affinity for others who travel the skies,” he finally decided on, not a single lie in his words.

There was silence, and then the Emperor began to laugh. If it had been anyone else, Jon might have said it had a hysterical edge to it, but he wasn’t sure that the Emperor had ever been sane the entire time they’d known each other.

“I should not be surprised, my fallen one. You are so secretive.” Long fingers stroked through the loose sections of Jon’s hair, making him realize how long it had grown. “What language was that you spoke? I have never heard its like.”

“...It is the language of...the people of one of my fathers.” Again, the truth, worded to sound foreign, and from the way the Emperor’s eyebrows rose, Jon thought he’d succeeded. 

“Is it common, for your kind to have more than one father?”

He answered with a small smile and a shrug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gīda = Calm  
> kessa sagon sȳz = it will be fine  
> sagon gīda = be calm  
> Sōvegon = fly


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter in honor of maybe not being the only one in this ship tag anymore soon lol

Hekatys' rooms were about what Jon had been expecting. Opulent, in that way that made him think of Casterly Rock but if the builders had restraint. Large, more than enough that her ladies could lounge around them in comfort. 

And with the slight smell of blood which made him very much not want to know what else she did other than entertain guests. Or perhaps that was part of it.

She'd invited him the day before, clearly aware he had no real schedule beyond his lessons and whatever the Emperor wanted him for. Since he could not say no, he had servants help him into one of his more opulent outfits, fit for visiting a high ranking noble, and headed into her den alone.

“You’re not human.”

Jon almost choked on his drink, looking over to where the Emperor’s wife lounged, as the first real words she'd said to him were that. “My lady, I think--”

“Shh, do not fret, Aemon. No one here judges you for it.” She motioned around them, to her personal servants, to her ladies, all of whom were various hybrids as she was. “Oh, you hide yourself well, but I can scent it on you, sometimes.” She grinned, showing off vicious canines. “Dry scales and fire.”

He’d expected her to sense that he was a warg, to smell the bird he’d found his way into in this time or maybe even Ghost somehow. That maybe, somehow, she could smell the ancient trace of Children of the Forest within his Stark blood. But that...that sounded like a dragon. 

Targaryens had blood of the dragon. They were supposed to be special, more than human. Sarella liked to talk about the experiments his ancestors might have done, in Gogossos. Sometimes she’d hinted that dragonlords had something similar done.

Often, that they’d _voluntarily_ done it to themselves.

This was the first time anyone had told him to his face, though, that he wasn’t fully human.

Hekatys was watching him carefully and he hoped that none of his emotions had shown through his mask over the last minute of thought. He used to be so good at this, at keeping his expression cold, hard, a Stark’s. Sometimes he wondered if he’d lost some of the ice in his veins when he’d acknowledged what else he was.

“I would rather not have others find out,” he finally managed.

No, he’d seen the way people looked at her and her people. Not as bad as the historians, but not as favorably as they should consider the wife of their Emperor and her court. And worse yet, in this place dragons were lurking creatures to be feared. Ancient experiments gone out of control. There was no wonder, no thought of them as near-pets to their riders, only terror.

“Of course, we would not betray a brother in such a way,” she assured him, her ladies murmuring their agreement. “Only, I wished you to know that you have allies here. We must stick together or else the humans would try to overwhelm us.”

He slowly nodded. Allies would be good. Right now, there were a few servants and guards he spoke to regularly, but the Emperor disliked highborns showing him too much interest. But for some reason the Emperor was fine with Jon becoming closer to his wife and he’d use that.

“Thank you, my lady. When I first arrived, everyone seemed...very different. I worried what it would mean for me.”

She set her hand against his arm, caressing his skin, maybe petting him. “I know. When I first arrived here, I feared for my safety among so many humans. I could not hide my true self as well as you, but I have learnt who to trust and who not to. And my time here has reinforced the fact that _very few_ of the humans can be trusted.”

Her eyes narrowed and, deciding to experiment, Jon reached for his bird for a second, allowing his eyes to flash white just long enough for her to see them do _something_. Let her think he was hiding behind some glamor if it suited her. 

“I’ve often found that to be the case.”

There was truth in his words, despite himself. Always, it was the humans around him who betrayed him. He might not trust a white walker, but that wasn't because they were untrustworthy, but because they were enemies.

She let out a soft noise, pressing against him, and he wondered how much of his old pain showed on his face. "We are building a better world," she breathed, a purr underlying her words. "The Emperor is not like the others."

Jon saw the opening, leapt on it, "Is he...is he even human?"

There was quiet for a moment, Hekatys turning her attention to one of the murals adorning her walls. He studied it, realizing it was the Emperor's family, from what just be the Lion of the Night and the Maiden of the Light to him. 

At first, he thought that was meant to be his answer, but then she spoke again, "He is something more and less, as we are. But what it is...you smell of this world, even if you are not of it. He...he used to."

She would not say more and Jon did not dare push. But it was a start that showed he'd been right to think she'd be a good source of information for him. 

He stayed longer than he needed to, falling into a light doze as the others did, the sun shining through the large windows of her tower a cozy warmth. Jon would earn her trust, and those of her household, even if it meant a mummer's show.


	9. Chapter 9

Jon was brought to court regularly. An honored guest who wasn't so much a guest anymore. He was shuffled through the Emperor's household, he knew, and the few times he was able to interact with others outside of the Emperor's hearing, he learned that the view of who and what Jon was had become some sort of twisted game.

He'd thought to approach one of the others, first, to tentatively ask their thoughts, but it was with the Emperor he found himself after one new revelation.

"You're preoccupied." The Emperor watched him, hands resting in front of his face, long nails sliding together with a sounding like castleforged steel.

Jon swallowed, knowing what the Emperor was like when displeased by now. "I heard something I can't get out of my mind."

Tilting his head to the side, the golden strands of decorations on his headpiece tinkling, the light making his red eyes flash, the Emperor simply waited. He'd probably, Jon suspected, already read it from his surface thoughts.

"... There are those who believe that," and how could he phrase this, he wondered, in the least offensive of ways, "you plan to marry me."

"Is that all?" The Emperor slid a hand across the small divide of the table, stroking the pads of his fingers across the back of one of Jon's hands. "Truly, the least the court has accused me of."

"Your Majesty?"

Jon had to take that bait, had to hear if there were rumors of dark magic, of darker worship, in this time, too. The Emperor gave away so little, still.

The Emperor's red painted lips quirked. "You are such a curious creature, my fallen one, and I've deprived you of so much gossip, haven't I? The most well-known of their rumors is that I murdered my elder sister, the Empress before me." He paused for effect. "I might have, given such a chance, but I did not need to."

"Why?" Jon's mouth felt dry.

"My sister was no delicate, gentle being. However, she had been dead, in truth, for many years before her body died."

"What do you mean?"

He paused. "I have many secrets held close, moreso than perhaps even you. When you are ready to share, I will trade you. A great secret for another."

Jon shivered, knowing he did not have nearly as many secrets as he needed. "I have only one secret to give."

"I doubt that very much….But confide in me, Aemon, and I will return that favor. Until then, if you wish, Hekatys can tell you much of the Amethyst Empress' reign," distaste flashed across his face. 

As much as he wanted to press, wanted to know more, Jon could tell that conversation was over for now. Thankfully, he had the original subject to return to.

"But what of these rumors, of your plans for me?"

"Marriage to me _would_ give you many more freedoms." Jon couldn't tell if he was teasing or not.

"I am a man."

The Emperor gave him a disbelieving look before he seemed to understand what he meant. "Ah, anatomically. We are not going to breed, no, but I hardly expect children of all of my concubines."

"...Would I be a concubine?"

It wasn't simply the red color that made the Emperor's eyes look heated, then. "Would you prefer consort? Would you prefer...husband?"

Face feeling red hot, Jon fumbled for an answer. "You already have a wife, your majesty." Though Hekatys certainly seemed to have more freedom of movement, Jon couldn't imagine suddenly gaining that just for some marriage vow.

"You would be a husband, would you not?" Jon thought the Emperor might be mocking him. "Think on it, my fallen one."

Jon thought of little else for days after.

When Hekatys, the only one who was of a definite rank to do so, eventually questioned him, the words gushed forth from his lips with little control. She laughed at him, for all of it, before she embraced him in a tight, full body hug.

"I could ask for no one better to share the burden of the Emperor," she teased. "And you could use a defined place at court."

Obviously there as no record of him taking a husband, but Jon was there to change history. Most of what happened after his arrival hopefully wasn't what would go down in history.

He had grown more used to how the Emperor's touch felt. He had met many of the Emperor's concubines and none of them seemed somehow traumatized.

"What...would it imply?"

"There are many steps to courtship here. It often seems to the rest of us that his serene majesty has skipped ahead for you." She watched him with eyes that glowed in the dim lighting of the room. "You should take the offer. Right now it may feel impossible that he would lose interest in you, but if he were to you would need to find another to sponsor you and there are those at court far worse to be with."

Jon thought of some of the highborns he'd known and didn't doubt that. The Emperor, for all he was deep in dark magics and who knew what else, seemed to have no interest in using children, did not torture anyone in public for the sake of it, or any of the many actions that came to mind.

He was creepy, he was definitely doing enough to terrify people around them. But...he had some sort of standards. The Emperor wanted Jon, but had yet to force him. He was letting Jon decide nearly every step forward they took.

"I can't believe I'm considering marrying the Bloodstone Emperor."

Hekatys laughed and he imagined, for a moment, that it was Sarella, who would surely be just as amused.

If it meant more freedom, more knowledge, he had to take it.


End file.
